


Silent Night

by alliaskofyou, TryingToMystrade (TryingToScribble)



Series: Friends, Foes, and Festivities [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:05:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliaskofyou/pseuds/alliaskofyou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToMystrade





	Silent Night

“Idiots! All of them. That was barely a 3!” Sherlock kicks at the snow drift in Hyde Park. “This was not even worth leaving the warmth of the flat.”

 

John hums his agreement while rubbing his freezing hands together. He should’ve brought gloves, but he didn’t think it would take this long, not for Sherlock to solve the case, but the bickering between Anderson and the detective. He rolls his eyes fondly at the recollection of Sherlock pointing a very angry finger into Anderson’s chest along with the exclamation: “I  _ know  _ ash!”

 

“What are you giggling about?” 

 

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

 

Sherlock scowls and then sighs as he notices John’s freezing hands. He promptly takes of his gloves and hands them to John. John attempts to resist, but Sherlock just grabs his hands and pulls them on tight.

 

“You should’ve worn your own, but, as the amazing boyfriend I am, I will gladly freeze my hands to warm yours.”

 

“How chivalrous of you.”

 

“Quite.”

 

John sees a group of boys playing in the snow off in the distance and smiles mischievously.

 

“Sherlock, how did you know the husband was the murderer?”

 

Sherlock peers at him curiously, slightly incredulous. “I already told you, John,” He looks forward on their path and begins a soliloquy of the particulars of the case as John sneaks off to the side to grab a handful of snow. 

 

He aims and fires, the snow smacking Sherlock in the middle of his back. John breaks into a fit of giggles as Sherlock’s speech and movements stop. He’s mid-step, mid-sentence and whirls around to face John, his coat flying around him like a ridiculous cape. 

 

“You did not.”

 

“I did.”

 

The corner of Sherlock’s lips lift, briefly, not quite a full smirk, as he runs behind a tree, bending to grab as much snow as his hands can carry and cursing that he gave John his gloves. John takes cover as well, behind a park bench. A flurry of snowballs descend Hyde Park, landing on chests and legs and hands and, most comically, on John’s shocked face. 

 

Sherlock hasn’t peeked out behind his tree for the last few snowballs John has lobbed at it. Curious, John crawls on his stomach to the tree, stands, and jumps around the tree, throwing a snowball at the place where Sherlock should be. Then, all of a sudden, John is tackled and pinned to the ground by a grinning detective. 

 

“I win!”

 

John’s laugh comes out in a burst of heated fog. “And what do you get for winning?”

 

“I think I deserve a kiss from the terrible loser.”

 

John smiles and closes his eyes, expectant; but what he doesn’t expect is freezing snow to the face. He sputters at a laughing Sherlock who jumps off of John’s middle and sprints in the opposite direction. 

 

“You’re going to pay for that!”

 

“Not if you can’t catch me!”

  
  



End file.
